Some widgets have options that are only available when you get a premium membership.

We've split the page into zones!

Certain widgets can only be added to certain zones.

"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.

Golden Slipper

Disintegrate

Disintegrate

These tears that are coming thick and fastThey feel like splinters of broken glassAs though the shattered pieces of me are escaping through my eyesEyes that are tornAnd bleeding. My spirit wornOut. So tiredPainting my innocence over the walls untilThe world is consumed by the smell Of salt and rustBut it isn't enoughYou still won't trustIn meWhen it countedWhen I needed you to believe in meYou couldn'tNow fragmenting and crumbling IDisintegrate.

Vertical

No Crime Just Punishment

***PLEASE NOTE THIS PIECE MAY OFFEND SOME READERS, ESPECIALLY THOSE WITH A SENSITIVE MIND AND A WEAK STOMACH***

~~~~~

Now this might sting just a little my dear.

The disconnected voice sounding from somewhere within the darkness of the room, the girl struggled against the bindings that kept her attached to a table of some form, her hands and feet unable to move. Thick belts and buckles held her down, across her knees, across her waist, across her chest and shoulders. Her head was held down by the same thick leather, all she could move were her eyes; her eyes which danced around the room wildly, searching the dark grim space for a sign of hope. There was none.

Fear. Panic. Confusion.

Emotions dancing in a matter of seconds as she continued to struggle trying to break free. She felt cold fingertips brush her arms and she shivered involuntarily trying to squirm away.

Youre only making this harder on yourself.

The same disconnected voice echoed around, bouncing off stone walls and repeating. The air smelt damp, like mildew and stale water. It was cold, not unlike the temperature of a storage room. It was this that led the bound girl to assume she was in a basement of some kind. How long she had been there she had no idea, all she knew was the damp, stale air and the bite of leather immovable on her flesh.

You must pay for your crimes.

Her mouth and throat dry from dust and little air she desperately searched for the spit to be able to talk, wh..what crimes? she rasped, it hurt to talk, the straps across her chest making it hard to inhale enough oxygen to speak. There was an answering chuckle from somewhere within the space, but nothing more.

Footsteps sounded hollowly but she could not tell the direction they came from, the echoing walls distorting the sound until it flowed around her. There was a creak like an old door long out of use being opened on rusted hinges and for a brief moment there was a delicious burst of fresh air into the room as the staleness rushed to escape into the outside. She longed to become a part of the air and escape too, but she settled for the taste of clean oxygen in her lungs, how odd to find such pleasure in something taken so much for granted.

Her pleasure was short lived as a new sound registered on her consciousness; it was an odd sound, shaky and somehow terrifying. There was regularity to it, almost a rhythm of squeaks and the sound of metal against metal. She recognised the noise but couldnt place it, but somewhere within the depths of her memory her mind was screaming at her to try and break free. She continued to struggle, but the leather only bit further into her flesh. She winced against the pain but something told her that staying still was not an option and to fight for even the small slim chance of breaking free.

The noise came closer and closer, now accompanied by a deep humming. It disturbed her how happy the hummer seemed to sound, as though it was just an ordinary person out for a stroll in the park in summer. The series of squeaks and creaks continued and with it came the memory of a dozen horror films watched on sleepovers with friends as they laughed at the absurdity of it all. Her eyes widened at the realisation as her captor wheeled the trolley into the room and closed the door behind them. The fresh air once more staring its transition into stale as she inhaled and exhaled, her heart beating faster than it should even be possible.

It is time for you to pay.

WHAT ARE MY CRIMES?

An act of innocence will get you no where.

But I have done nothing wrong!

She was met with silence. She was exhausted; she didnt even know how long she had been here, let alone where here was. She closed her eyes to fight back tears refusing to give in and break down. She heard the faint sounds of metal scraping metal and behind her closed eyelids she could sense movement. Opening her eyes she was blinded when a light bulb flickered on above her. The light was dingy and minimal, but after so long in the dark it was like seeing the sun for the first time.

In the few moments that her eyes were open, she deeply regretted not keeping them closed. Her assumption was correct; she was indeed in a basement of some kind. The walls were dirty and stained with an odd sheen that looked like damp and slime. The floor was covered in dust with the exception of thin wheel marks and footsteps scuffed into the layers. There were no windows and rust appeared to be growing from the majority of the surfaces. In the corner was a large sink that looked like it was originally an off-white colour but was now a stained and mouldering yellowish-brown.

The light bulb flickered throwing her back into darkness before flickering back to life again.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the dim light reflect off something shiny, her eyes moving to look she saw her reflection in the blade of some instrument wielded by a gloved hand. Her reflection made her choke on laughter as she registered her eyes wide and frightened, her face dirty and streaked with lines of grime, her hair a mass of knots and tangles. She noted the cracked lips and bruise on her cheekbone. She looked a mess. The girl laughed, the belts hurting her chest, digging into her body as she laughed but she didnt care as she lost herself in hysteria before her laughter dissolved into tears and sobs.

She sobbed, hollowly and deeply and knew she would not live for much longer.

Her reflection came closer as the gloved hand moved the blade tracing along the skin of her arms down to her hands.

She closed her eyes as the metal swung downwards.

Pain. Unbearable. White hot and burning as her fingers dropped to the dirty ground one after another.

She screamed as the blood ran down to pool on the floor, gritty and slick mixing with the dust forming globs as a ringing echoed in her ears shrilly and loudly, she felt as though she was falling off the edge of the world.

Tears of pain flooded down her face freely as her body twisted in agony, the belts and bindings keeping her in place as she choked on pain.

For your crimes.

I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG!

Still you deny it? Have you not learnt your lesson?

The girl shook, her body sweating as pain gripped her tightly. She barely registered the hands trailing over her skin along her stomach and over her breasts, moving upwards to her jaw. The gloved hands were slick with blood as the pulled her jaw open, she struggled, her eyes widening in terror as she saw the hands reaching for a different instrument, she screamed and screamed but it didnt matter. She closed her eyes tightly as her jaw was held open, the thick leather straps still holding her head in place as her tongue was removed slice by tiny slice and thrown to the floor with her fingers. The blood ran down her throat, down her face as she choked and coughed drowning in crimson.

Locked in a world of pain fuzzy and distorted the girl floated into her mind, locking herself away from the torture. She could feel herself slipping away, dissolving into rivers and air like sugar dissolving in hot water. The ringing sound continued to surround her consciousness as did the noise of metal slicing through flesh, the sound of blood raining freely to the floor and above it all the sound of delighted humming as the one who held her captive continued to teach a lesson to the girl.

The release of the straps across her chest registered briefly before the pain of her flesh being torn and ripped open. She slipped gratefully into unconsciousness as her still beating heart was exposed, gloved hands reaching out to wrap around it, squeezing the life out. Crushing the heart, broken and irreparable. She died in a bloody and broken mess, her fingers and tongue removed. Her heart crushed and destroyed.

The death of Art, the death of Creativity. Her means of expression lost and removed. The one who killed her removed their gloves dropping them to the ground amidst a pool of blood and grime.

Censorship walked out of the door leaving its victim destroyed and disfigured, forgotten by the world.